A Bird of a Different Color
by The Disreputable Writer
Summary: After Lucien’s final defeat, Hammer traveled north to escape her violent past. There, she makes a new friend and reflects on what she left behind. Hammer/Sparrow subtext. Good Sparrow/Female/Needs of the Few. One-shot. Complete.


_"Down by the reeds, down by the reeds,  
Swim the sirens of Oakvale, out to the seas._

_Down by the reeds, down by the reeds,  
Float the souls left unbroken by white balverines._

_Down by the reeds, night-blooming weeds…"_

Her voice trailed off, and the deep snow quickly swallowed its last strains. In Oakfield, on the cliffs by the sea, her voice had seemed to resonate with the trees and the waves. Here the snow devoured sound, and her voice sounded thin and flat.

She didn't mind. When she had first arrived the silence had seemed oppressive, but soon she had learned to like it. Besides, the snow dampened more than just sound. She could swear that even the pain of her memories was dulled by the softness of the white landscape and gray sky.

And there was a sense of privacy. Out here in the woods, sitting up high on a thick branch, with the snow on every surface surrounding and hiding her, she was completely alone. She couldn't hear anyone, not even the monks in the village just beyond the tree line, and they couldn't hear her. It was a new sensation. Growing up, the monks of the Temple of Light had watched over her without fail, and even after she left Oakfield, she had felt Theresa's sightless eyes on her at all times. Now that her destiny was fulfilled, she could enjoy her solitude.

But some memories were harder to let go of.

"_Down by the reeds, she holds the keys,  
To my heart that bled fiery red autumn leaves. _

_When you're alone, your family,  
Is the one that you make for yourself as you please._

_Birds fly away, south, west, and east,  
And I flew up north to the antipodes. _

_Leaving behind, some small piece of me,  
With a Sparrow who…"_

She cut off her improvised verse mid-word when she suddenly became aware of the crunch of boots in the snow.

"Hannah?" called a voice. Hannah. Not "Sister," not "Hammer." This place stripped away all titles and revealed the true nature of things.

"Here, Rook," said Hannah, waving to the approaching figure. A skinny, tattooed arm waved back. Rook stepped lightly over the snow, breaking only the first delicate layer, and stopped at the base of Hannah's tree.

He was small, but not an ounce was wasted. He seemed to be made of nothing but bone and sinew. His angular face peered up at Hannah, perched on her branch, with a friendly grin. A bare arm reached up to brush a wisp of black hair out of his eyes.

The monks disliked titles, but Hannah supposed that Rook was as close to an Abbot as they had. It had seemed strange to her that such a young man should wield so much authority, but she eventually decided that it was just one more way in which these warrior-monks were completely unlike the Temple of Light. Instead of clinging to tradition and stately wisdom, they prized strength and cleverness. And Rook embodied all of their favored traits.

"Mind if I join you?" he said, and without waiting for an answer he lifted himself effortlessly into the tree. Hannah watched the tattoos on his arms ripple with the movement of his lean muscles.

"How you can stand to be out in this cold with no sleeves is beyond me," she said. She was wearing layers of thick furs, and still she could feel the bite of the wind when it found its way through the trees.

"Oh, you'll learn," said Rook, "Maybe on the day that you beat me in the ring."

Hannah laughed. "Then I suppose I'll have to keep wearing these furs for a long time," she said. She remembered the day she had arrived at the monks' enclave, full of boasts and bravado. She had assumed that her years of fighting bandits and balverines, not to mention Lucien's soldiers, had made her a match for any pacifist monk. She had been thoroughly humbled when Rook, a man half her size, had taken her to the ground in less than ten seconds.

His smile told her that he was remembering the same encounter. "I keep telling you," he said, "If you stop relying on your strength and learn to use it strategically, I won't stand a chance against you."

"And yet," she replied, flicking a puff of snow at him, "Not matter how many times you explain it to me, I keep losing."

"You hardly every lose," said Rook, "You've bested every monk here except for me. I can tell you, you've bruised a few egos since you came."

Hannah's smile faded. "Is that why they don't like me?"

"What?" said Rook, genuinely surprised, "What makes you think we don't like you?"

"Well, not you," said Hannah, "You're friendly enough. But the others always avoid me."

"Oh, yes," said Rook, nodding sagely, "They're avoiding you. That's why they wander into the woods alone to sit in trees and sing to themselves." It took Hannah a moment to realize that he was being sarcastic.

"You know what I mean," she grumbled.

"Sorry," said Rook, "Yes, I know what you mean. But you have to remember that almost everyone here was born into this life. We don't often meet outsiders, especially not ones as intimidating as you."

"Was that a dig about my size?" demanded Hannah.

Rook put his hands up disarmingly. "Don't be so touchy," he said, "I was referring to your history. You've seen real battle, haven't you?"

"You could tell?" said Hannah. In the few weeks she had spent there, she hadn't told anyone about her past.

Rook smirked. "Not least because when you first came, you tramped into the sanctuary with a bloodstained war-hammer leaning on your shoulder, demanding to talk to our leader."

"I suppose I wasn't very subtle," she sighed, "But I didn't expect them to be afraid of me."

"No one's afraid of you!" said Rook, "Listen. Our teachings are very specific. We study the arts of violence, but we do it in the service of peace. Not one of us has deliberately harmed another human being. Though we are fighters, our strength comes from a calm, still place. But you… you've harmed people. You've killed people. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. You're strong, but your strength comes from passion and rage. Your way of fighting belongs on the battlefield, not in the dojo."

"I'm sorry," said Hannah, feeling very small, "I suppose I shouldn't have come here."

Rook shook his head impatiently. "You didn't let me finish. You're different from us, and that makes some people uneasy. But that's a good thing, as far as I'm concerned. Nothing can exist in isolation. What good are our teachings if they don't hold up against a true warrior's skill? You're testing us, and that makes us stronger. And at the same time, I hope we'll teach you something about our way of life, and help you let go of whatever it was that led you down such a violent path in the first place.

"You're welcome here," he said, "Even if some of us have a hard time showing it. They'll warm to you, if you let them. Just know that no one dislikes you, and no one means to avoid you."

They sat in silence for several minutes while Hannah thought about what Rook had said.

When he finally spoke again, he said, "So what was it that made you come here? We've tried not to pry, but everyone's so curious."

Hannah stared. She had thought that the monks' lack of questions had meant that they weren't interested in her past. She hadn't considered that they might be respecting her privacy. Still, she wasn't sure how much she should tell. Now that she was beginning to understand how important pacifism was to the monks, she was reluctant to admit just how much killing she had done in her life.

"Just… looking for a change," she said, "All the fighting I've done, I used to think it was bold of me. That it made me better than those who cherished peace without bothering to fight to keep it. I thought I was making a difference. But eventually it wears on you. You see that you're up against an enemy that can never be fully defeated, and even if you're on the right side of the fight, you're still fighting, you know? You're still killing. Pretty soon right and wrong start to blend at the edges and you're not sure if you're not becoming part of the problem. I used to think I was fighting for peace and freedom, but the people I fell in with… they made me wonder how much longer I could go on before I turned from a warrior into just a plain killer."

Rook nodded at every word. "You sound very wise, Hannah," he said, "You felt in your heart what our order teaches us from childhood. You were right to seek us out."

"Thank you," said Hannah, "That's good to hear."

"So it was your companions who made you question your path?" he prompted.

She said, "Partly. I was already unsure, but they really made me take a hard look at myself. I mean, if I was supposed to be a good person, why was I running around with a pretentious bookworm who thought he could serve evil for years and then just turn around and expect forgiveness? Not to mention a sadistic pirate and an infuriating old woman who never told us her real agenda and played us all for fools. They all had reasons for being the way they were, I'm sure. But that's just it. You can justify anything with enough excuses. I never wanted to be like that."

"But you didn't hate them all," said Rook mischievously, "What about the one who holds the keys to your heart?"

Hannah blushed furiously. "You were listening?"

"Haha! Sorry," said Rook, "I didn't mean to. But you're not exactly quiet. So who was she?"

Hannah frowned as she remembered the woman who had started it all. "She was different," she said, "Not like the others. She was good. Her words and actions, they made sense to me when it seemed like nothing else did. I thought she was perfect. I left everything behind to be with her, to try to learn from her. I thought she could teach me how to be."

"Then why did you leave her?" said Rook quietly, "Did she die?"

"No, no," said Hannah, "She's still in Albion as far as I know. I just saw a side of her that made me rethink some things. We went through so much together, and she sacrificed everything for the greater good. I had started to think that she was completely selfless. But in the end, she had to make a choice…"

After several seconds of silence, Rook spoke up, "And she made the wrong one?"

"Well, not wrong exactly. It's probably the choice I would have made myself, to be honest. It's just that I had put her on such a pedestal. And her choice… it wasn't wrong. But it was very… human."

"You can't blame her for that, can you?" said Rook.

"Of course not," Hannah stammered, "I don't blame her; I love her. She's the closest thing to family that I've got. But I'd lost my faith once before, and since she was there to help me find my way again… I guess I put all my faith in her instead. I needed her to be perfect. I needed her to prove that a person could spend a lifetime fighting and still be above temptation. I knew I wasn't perfect – the first time I killed someone was in a blind rage, and most of the fighting I did after that was out of revenge. But as long as I had her to follow, someone who was never wrong, I thought I could become better. But those years of fighting broke us both down. I thought she would make the choice that I wasn't strong enough to make, but in the end she was just like me.

"I still love her. Nothing could ever change that. But… I had to find something else to put my faith in. So I came here." She shrugged. There was nothing left to say.

"I see," was all Rook said. Then he scooted off the branch and lowered himself back into the snow. "Come on back to temple," he said, "My wife wants a rematch with you, and after that it will be time for dinner. You can't hide out here forever."

Hannah followed him back towards the village, wading through the deep snow. Rook had eased her mind. Now that he knew her story, she felt a little less alienated from the monks. Maybe in time she would be able to tell them more and more, until she had nothing left to hide. Little by little, she could make these people her family. Her father, who had adopted her, and Sparrow, who had become like a sister to her, had taught her that there are more important things than blood when it comes to making a family.

They left the trees, and came upon the little collection of huts surrounding the modest temple. Every face turned up to watch the fierce, giant woman's approach. But in their eyes, where she had once read hostility and fear, she could see the curiosity and friendliness that was truly there. It felt more welcoming already. Soon this village would feel like home.

The snow fell softly and constantly, covering everything in white, a clean slate. Hannah left heavy footprints behind her as she followed Rook into the temple. He turned and smiled encouragingly at her.

She smiled back, but her thoughts were still on a bird of a different color.

* * *

Author's Note: This is a little more introspective and dialogue-heavy than my usual stuff. I deliberately left Hammer's relationship with Sparrow open to interpretation. You can read femmeslash into it, or you can assume that Hammer simply loved her as a sister. Rook is my character, and he absolutely is not meant as a love interest for Hammer. Please review and let me know how you think I did. ~DW


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